When Diplomacy Fails…

CHAPTER 25

Aramis felt good, with occasional tingles of fear. These trogs loved their random gunfire, and relied on prayer for hits. Prayer and hits had about the same likelihood of success, but enough millions of rounds meant someone would hit the jackpot. He’d been fragged once in a previous mission, tortured this time… he felt mortal. Not good.

Highland was in that state of mind where she’d try to lag for rest. It wasn’t conscious, and military training taught you to get past that, but she hadn’t had that, so he grabbed an arm with Bart and hurried her along. She was courageous enough. Again he wondered why she bothered posing. He didn’t like the bitch, but she had enough guts if she’d just show those.

Jessie ran alongside, offering encouragement.

“Come on, ma’am. We’re doing it. We’re with you.”

Aramis would have preferred to get Military Trainer on her, but it wouldn’t help. She was working hard.

The route was as it should be. This wall was farther along than he’d expected, though. Trust the government to get something right at the wrong time.

“We turn in two hundred meters,” he said.

Cady sounded angry. “The devil we do. Those crabherders got the berm built.”

“Aw, shit.”

Yes, he could see it, past the debris, tools and remains of buildings. The wall was still being built, but the berm used to set it was steep, high and had that cut in the middle, where the wall would go. Some eager crew had run ahead of schedule, probably to wangle for budget.

“Now I hate contractors,” he muttered.

“We’ll have to cross it,” Jason said. “Not quite my field of engineering, but if I can find some poly sheets or lumber, we can do it.”

It was then that a targeted drone zipped over the berm and dove for them with an angry buzz.

Even Highland remembered her gun, and eleven weapons swung that way.

Aramis was just behind Jason. Jason was slightly in the lead, and grinned as he got the gun lined up. Then the drone spit itself to pieces, as he heard rapidfire from the Medusa. Bart had beat him.

“Well done,” he acknowledged. That put him back to the event at hand-combat construction of a bridge while at the top of a berm between hostiles. Aramis wondered how the hell you did that.

Cady said, “I don’t wish to alarm anyone, but the angry mob is about three minutes behind us and closing.”

Some sort of projectile wooshed and crashed not far away, and they all dove for cover amidst cable drums and re-rod boxes.

Elke said, “Recon” and swung her shotgun. The dull sound gave away what she’d fired. The tiny camera snapped photos as it flew, and the computer in her visor stripped away the worthless ones that showed sky. She thumbed a control, clicked for several, and a moment later they popped up on his goggles.

Neither resolution, aperture nor size were good, but it was clear enough there was a missile mortar support element on the far side. They seemed to be some local army, but it was hard to tell which and didn’t matter.

Aramis tried hard to chill the frustration. It wouldn’t help, and they needed clear thinking right now. Active hostiles over the berm/wall. Others closing. Exactly what they wanted, except for being stuck in the middle. Engineering was Jason’s job. They had light support weapons in the Medusa. They had a reinforced squad. Alex was a good leader, what could he do to help?

Alex said, “We could really use some mortar fire. Elke, any ideas? Charges we can toss?”

She looked at him, looked at Jason, Jason looked at her, and the two of them took off at a low sprint.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Alex muttered. “Aramis, Bart, keep Witch covered.”

“Yes, sir,” Aramis nodded.

For now, all they could do was bunker down. That berm was very solid, and they lacked anything with the required punch.

Aramis was embarrassed. This new army was not as capable as his had been. In less than five years, the entire philosophy had changed with the leadership. They were more geared toward fighting lightly armed rebels than real threats. That came from consensus building rather than competent central authority.

Still, they were keeping the rebels here well tied up. Though at some point soon, someone higher up would order a heavier engagement, he was sure.

Some kind of engine roared behind the building. It was a turbine, and sounded military. He got ready to shoot at the driver if he had to.

It could also be an industrial engine, he realized, as a cement mixer barreled around the corner, leaving tire compound in tracks and throwing debris. Jason and Elke were in the cab, he driving, she on shotgun. Jason braked hard but kept it straight, which threw the doors open to crack hinges against the detents. They bailed out in leaping rolls as it reached zero speed, and took cover as it sped up again, the engine revving in an insane whine. Jason had jammed it in gear, pinned the steering and let the engine run.

It almost reached the berm when Elke rose enough to key something on her box, and the explosions started.

The first one lifted the rear of the vehicle two meters off the ground in a dusty slam. The second ripped the drum from its mounts and angled it up and forward while throwing the damaged chassis back down. The third one blew as the truck smashed into the berm.

As the drum stood upright, a dull whump rippled it, then peeled it into petals from the mouth, turning it into a bizarre metal flower. The contents erupted out the mouth in a volcanic splash of gray ooze, looking like ten cubic meters of fantasy lava, in globs and clumps and a huge fountain. It caused a dark, foreboding shadow as it rose. It reached apogee, tumbled and fell, right behind the berm.

Twelve tons of concrete “mortar” wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but the wreckage against the berm made a convenient step, and there wasn’t any enemy fire in that area. The steel flower of the blown drum tumbled and fluttered down to land atop the glop.

“Well done.” Alex couldn’t say anything else. “We’ll need to detour north.”

Bart took point and let the guns swivel. He chose targets near people but legitimately kept the casualty count low, though there were always collaterals.

Like that pair with what looked like a crude rocket launcher. It might be effective and it might hit, so he tagged them for a grenade and felt it kick the harness as it launched. It was an incendiary. He was out of the antipersonnel rounds.

It splashed in sparkly white, ripping one in pieces and sending the other shrieking in basso wails until he fell over and convulsed and stopped.

“Keep moving,” Alex said. “We’re following.”

He did so, lumbering along, and something sailed past him. The visor flashed a warning, but it was outgoing, something on a string, so probably Elke’s. That was confirmed when it hit the ground and cascaded in stages, from a first brilliant flare to gleaming fires, to flashing sparks and embers. Something overhead arced into the conflagration at high speed and exploded. She’d decoyed it.

Bart said, “I think they’ve escalated. Elke successfully shut off this section. The others are increasing fire.”

Cady asked, “Do we have any idea which faction it is?”

Jason said, “I’d almost say army, except the fire is almost too good and all lethal. Aerospace Force doesn’t have that kind of hardware. It’s not Marines, in this sector, so it’s a local faction. I’d guess that’s the Sufi. They’re about the best local.”

“Well, if we can keep that up, we’ve got a semi-professional contact approaching from the north.”

“Interesting,” Aramis said. “That’s Amala territory, and they’re certainly not anything professional.”

Helas asked, “Suborned? An elite group? Infiltrated?”

Elke had some kind of scanner, and said, “Munitions are Croatian. So they may be anyone’s.”

Jason looked frustrated as he said, “Who cares? We knew it wouldn’t go as planned. Move!”

They clustered up around Highland and Jessie and ran east in a crouch. After the berm there was a ditch, then debris where annexed property had been demolished. He presumed that was their immediate destination. It was a solid kilometer, and he was already breathing hard, with the weight of the Medusa, and Highland’s drag.

Jessie was keeping good pace, though. She certainly had been a runner.

The occasional fire increased. Then another drone rose behind them. He heard it, but it had to have already logged them. He turned, sighted, let the #2 gun slap a burst into it, and resumed.

Alex said, “Bart just killed a drone. Assume we’re compromised.”

“That wasn’t a military drone,” Elke said. “Do we have a photo?”

Bart said, “Yes, but I’m not sure how to get it from the system. Is it important?”

“It might be,” she said.

“Then I will try.” He was running, would soon have to actively dodge fire, half-carrying a weakened noncombatant and thirty kilos of Medusa. Now they wanted him to do technical work while avoiding debris and craters.

He thumbed a control, then another. There it was, and then gone. Scheisse. Hopefully not lost. There. He leapt like a 150 kilogram ballerina over a large chunk of concrete. He found the link for network, confirmed it was the one Jason projected from his pack, and sent it.

“Sent,” he called to Elke.

A moment later she said, “That’s a Ranco Industries model, last generation. They lost the trials on UN military, but were declined export license. They were a little too good for that.”

Highland said, “But Blanding was CEO of Ranco before he…”

And she’d been talking to him, at length.

Alex said, “He was a suspect.”

Cady added, “He may not be the only one. Alliance? Overlapping?”

“We can’t know.”

Highland’s voice was ragged as she hurled, “I want that fucker dead.”

“Not in our power to do, ma’am,” Alex said as he dropped alongside. He needn’t have. She found renewed energy somewhere and surged. Bart let her move ahead.

“If you get a chance…”

“We will follow contract, law and rules of engagement. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Fuck you, too,” she snarled.

“Cover in there,” Aramis said and pointed. “There are supposed to be tunnels.”

“Tunnels?” Jessie asked.

“Power conduit tunnels, more than big enough to crawl in.”

“I’ll try,” she said. Claustrophobe?

“That’s our best bet at the moment.”

A serious, aimed burst of machine gun fire chewed chips from the debris around them. They shouted, shrieked or grunted as they felt minded to. Bart tracked back as best he could, fired a burst into the building from #1, and followed with a grenade from #4.

Then he almost smashed Highland into the wall as he turned to go sideways through the door. He paused to let her shift, banged his weapon and his knee, but got through, dragged her carefully past the frame, as Aramis brought up the rear.

“Must… rest,” she rasped.

Aramis said, “One swallow of water, three deep breaths, and we have to find the tunnels.”

“Should we split up?” Cady asked. “We can do more damage?”

Bart wasn’t sure where her advantage came from, but Cady hardly seemed winded. She rolled on the balls of her feet, ready to spring.

“Down, or up?” he asked, because more than that would tire him. Also, he wasn’t sure about dragging the bitch-either Highland or the Medusa-through the tunnels.

It was Lionel who said, “Above offers sniping position. Under will be harder to locate. We need to be rats.”

Alex agreed. “Even though we’re taking the fight to them, we’re twelve, currently ten, versus thousands. We want to instigate, not wave our arms and offer it up.”

“Through here,” Aramis said. There was a collective groan, sigh, murmur and agreement that moving was better than standing, and they all followed at a jog, which would be easy except for the exhaustion of the previous sprints.

This had been an office building, perhaps twenty years ago. On Earth it would have been replaced by now. Here, it had apparently become apartments, then offices again, and the structure was weakened by a combination of substandard materials, age and conflict. Yes, if the tunnels were of good depth, they would be much safer than any elevation in this derelict.

Aramis seemed to know where they were going, and it was impressive how many maps, charts and building plans he could have. It was almost as if he had an inertial tracker in his brain.

They took a turn, then another. They went through what had been an office but had only broken remains of fixtures and furniture left. The walls had been pried to access the wires and fibers. That led to another door, to a service corridor.

“Elke, door,” Aramis said.

She stepped up, slapped on a patch, took a large step sideways, and popped the lock. Or rather, banged it. His goggles stopped a few sharp tatters of plastic, and he caught one in his teeth, which he swept clear and spit.

Lionel looked at Aramis, who nodded. He kicked the door wide, waved his carbine down the empty stairs, then took point.

Not quite empty stairs. They’d been used for storage once the tunnels were no longer used.

“Ears,” Lionel said. Bart checked Highland was wearing hers.

In enclosed quarters, even moderated guns were loud. His burst shredded several boxes, that seemed to be full of paper copies of documents.

“Ah, crap.”

“Let me,” Elke said. “Back in the hall.”

Bart was in the doorway and stepped aside. The front two backed out, leaving Elke to fish out something, toss it, then step aside herself.

“Fire in the hole.”

A roaring nimbus erupted from the doorway, blowing cindered paper and heavier chunks. He felt an overpressure slap. Highland whimpered, JessieM yelped. The rest flinched and waited. Five seconds later, Elke threw a thumb up and led the way.

He turned in and found she’d made worthy headway, but there was more crap down there, the lowest levels at the bottom of the landing were molded and slimy. Down the next flight, some stuff had tumbled and slipped in a small avalanche, but by careful foot placement they could step and ease their way through hot embers, acrid smoke, clutter and trash.

At the bottom, Aramis had opened the tunnel door himself, with a pry bar.

From the rear, Shaman said, “Hear that?”

They froze momentarily, and Alex heard small arms combat.

“They’re mixing it up now. Hopefully that will slow them.”

“What’s the plan?” Lionel asked as they trooped into the tunnel. A crouch was possible, but Alex knew he’d be crippled after a hundred meters of that. He went to his knees, as Aramis and Bart had.

They stirred up dust that was a combination of spores, grit and drifting insulation. He grabbed for a paper mask and dragged it over his head. Some still got through, and his breathing was hindered by the filter matrix holding his hot exhalations. Still, it was a hindrance, not a stoppage.

Aramis’s voice was muffled by a mask, and echoed oddly. He said, “We go across the street, well, under it. That puts us outside the epicenter. We then go up, and wait to see who comes looking for us. They have to fight through the confusion, and we’ll have a good position.”

Behind him, it was Highland who asked, “What if they wait us out?” She coughed from dust seeping around her mask.

“They’ll want to be fast, and take the opportunity. The longer it goes on, the more likely we are to get backup. Their resources are finite. This assumes they’re logical and reasonable.”

She said, “Huble will be. I don’t know about Lezt.”

“We’ll hope others are, too, or that they make mistakes.”

Elke’s voice said, “Ready to close this end.”

He really wasn’t sure about that. They needed cover and concealment, and to stop pursuit. It was also useful to create the impression that they might be dead. Against that, though, was that they’d be trapped underground, hoping the other end was no worse than this one had been, and that if Elke missed a calculation, it might cave in on top of them.

“As soon as everyone is in, do it,” he said.

“No time,” she insisted. “They’re entering the building now.”

“Everyone move! Babs, do it!”

Behind him came shouts and scrabbles, then a breath-stealing bang! That blew debris past him. The ground shook and rumbled and continued to do so, as he scurried like a rat, except a rat had proper feet and wouldn’t wear out its knees the way he was, even with kneepads.

“Elke, it’s still rumbling!” he said.

“The building was unstable. A large part is coming down. Think of it as free bonus destruction.”

“Can it hurt us?”

“I accounted for it.”

If he ever got married again, he’d never be able to trust even a wife the way he trusted Elke.

Aramis said, “There’s already a news churp that Ms. Highland may have died in fighting in the capital.”

She snarled, “Those crab-picking snot ghouls.”

Alex said, “After last time, you think they’d learn not to-”

Aramis cut in with, “BuState denies dead in fighting, insists kidnapped by factions. I’m getting a feed of ‘her’ calling for help and demanding peace from her supporters.”

Highland said, “You were right.” It was so soft it would have been inaudible, except he’d been hoping for it, and hoping not to be right.

“Yes, ma’am, they’re going to build you up heroically, try to kill you, and load your presence into the party. If they can’t do that, look for some embarrassing content to make its way out shortly.”

Elke apparently had reception on her gear. “The Sunni are offering a reward for her capture as a war criminal. The Amala are offering to match it, dead or alive. Highland Campaign Concordance is demanding the government arrest the preceding groups.”

“They’re in quite a frenzy. Good.”

“Access ahead,” Aramis advised.

“Open?”

“Welded.”

“Shit. Elke, forward.”

“I am the creeping thing,” she said.

They pulled up and stopped, face to heel, almost face to ass. A minute later, Elke crawled past, brushing the wall as she did so.

“This is going to be loud. Cover ears, open mouths, stand by. Any alibis? Fire in the hole.”

The explosion sounded deep and low, but felt like a kick in the guts from an elephant. The overpressure absolutely crushed him in the enclosed space. The dust turned opaque, and over it all was a ringing noise where the metal had yielded to Elke’s ministrations.

It still wasn’t open, though he assumed her blast had done as intended. She was neither cursing in Czech nor preparing a second charge.

A tug at his ankles was Highland, who crawled closer and muttered, “Alex, are there clean clothes available?”

He wasn’t going to ask which way she’d cut loose. These things happened in war, and her expression was completely forlorn.

“Not at present, ma’am. I’ll see what we can find.”

“Thank you.”

Aramis pried at the metal, Bart shoved, and shortly it shrieked and relented.

Aramis said, “Yeah, a lot more trash here, and ripe. Wow.”

The stench indicated the stairwell at this end had obviously been used as a latrine, trash dump and general pit. There were coffee scents, rot, piss, fermented vegetables and god only knew what else.

Behind, another round of rumbles started.

Elke said, “That was not me. Someone just struck the other building.”

“So they know we’re in this area. Move.”

Aramis said, “Yeah, there’s a plastic pallet here. We can walk over that for a few steps.”

“Whatever helps. Move!”

Fortunately, it was mostly stink, though the floor was slimy and disgusting. “Watch your step!” he advised, as he crawled through the hatch onto the pallet, stood and turned.

Bad news, they had a ladder, not stairs, though there was a small landing at the top.

“Okay, this place already stinks, everybody drain. That corner, ladies first.”

Aramis and Shaman stood there facing out, creating some illusion of privacy. Highland looked embarrassed and ashamed. Jessie half-moved and hesitated, stuck between needing to and unable to, until Elke grabbed her and went back herself. Cady said, “I’m fine.”

Several of the men took turns to unzip and drain, and Alex went last as Aramis ascended the ladder behind him. There was a respectable puddle, several liters, but the detritus on the ground was so squishy it didn’t seem it would matter.

That done, he turned to the stairs and climbed up, hands on the sides to avoid gripping the muck left from Aramis’ boots. Then he knelt, turned and offered a hand to Highland. As she came up, he could see she had wet her pants. Well, explosions and collapses could do that to one. He wasn’t going to mention it. If they could find clean clothes later they would. For now, he helped Jessie up, and Cady made the small landing completely full.

The door was partly off the hinges and askew. Beyond it was a cabinet of some kind.

There was movement to the sides, and he got the impression there were combatants.

Aramis had a pen-sized periscope, and Bart slid a small probe through another crack. Good. Elke’s shotgun-fired recon rounds would not help here.

Aramis whispered, “There are four routes underground we could have taken. That disrupts the pursuit. This appears to be local militia. Red bandanas with Arabic as their uniform.”

From the ladder, Jason asked, “Does it say ‘Arm of God’?”

“How the fuck would I know? I don’t speak Arabic. Hold on. Bart?”

Bart nodded, fingered controls, and pulled an image. It meant little to Alex, though it was familiar. Jason said, “Yes, that’s them. Sunni. Adequately trained. Looks like they have current generation gear.”

Alex asked, “Estimate on numbers?”

“Possibly thirty in this space. Beyond that, unknown.”

He sighed. Frontal firefights were a bad thing, even with the element of surprise. These guys had rifles, light armor, and looked ready to rumble.

“Well, we do what we have to. Ten of us can take them. But some discretion would have been nice.”

Jason said, “My Arabic is good enough I can sound like an Amala.”

“Will they believe it, the way we’re dressed?”

“Shouting will do it.”

“Likely. Then I guess we do. Judgment calls. Balance ammo with damage. Aramis and Bart split the front. I’ll take forward.”

Cady said, “I’m on the right,” and shifted her carbine to a left-handed stance. She and Jason were both largely ambidextrous.

Jason said, “I’ve got right. Marlin, Lionel, take left. Ms. Highland, Jessie, huddle down in the middle while we clear some space, then be ready to sprint for cover. Shaman, Elke, stay with them, bring them up the rear”

Jason slapped his ankle, he prodded Cady and goosed Aramis. Aramis nodded, said, “Go!” and kicked at the door.

It didn’t break cleanly. It splintered. It was plastic, not wood, but old and crazed and some kind of extrusion. His boot went through and he wasn’t going to be able to pull it back out. Bart slammed his forearm against the upper section, and it gave way, and the two tumbled through, shoving the cabinet until it caught on the floor and fell over. They tumbled, rolled and came up.

A bullet came between them, right over Alex’s head, and he swarmed forward, high-stepping over the wreckage.

Then Bart opened up with the cannon.

Peripherally, he saw two men on the left explode into meaty goo. The cacophony echoed. Aramis fired three bursts right. Cady fired. There was a momentary pause for targets, and Jason started wailing something in Arabic, of which Alex only recognized, “ Allahu akbar! ” God is great. Well, that depended on whose god and the circumstances.

Ahead of him, someone kicked a door in, and started to spray the room. He pointed, filled them with a burst, and fired another, slightly sustained one down the corridor. That was about twenty rounds of his fifty-round mag gone.

Bart fired off some kind of grenade. Or maybe it was Elke. But the concussion was painful. Even moderate charges were brutal with reflective surfaces. Fire picked up all around as the eight mercenaries filled the space.

Alex realized there weren’t any more targets for him. The room was a dusty, smoky, choking haze of debris with the acrid smell of propellant and the salty tang of blood. Computers were shattered, a respectable commo unit had been expertly hit. The mic and headset were shattered by pinpoint shooting-probably Jason’s work.

Elke said, “Light military vehicle outside.”

Aramis said, “My map says there’s a perfect position for an OP at the top of this building.”

“Then we’re definitely not going there. Suggestions?”

“Yes, take the vehicle. I recommend frontal drive south.”

“What’s there?”

“More Sunni, then the army. There’s a peace control point about three kilometers ahead.”

“And Paramils overhead.”

“Bart can handle them, or Jason.”

“Yeah, and they won’t want to be seen in that mix. Though same rule applies.” He pointed in the direction of the door and started moving as he spoke. “They’ll be unseen in the mayhem. Also, contact forward.”

A squad of someone was arriving on the street front, taking up position across.

Alex ordered, “Block in principal, advance with cover fire, move.”

Shaman and Lionel stood directly in front of Highland and Jessie. Bart and Aramis opened up until it sounded like the world exploded. Elke and Jason did something on the left, Cady went right, and Alex followed. There were tens of troops, at least, advancing leapfrog, though most of them did dive for cover when shot at. He picked one, and his first shot grazed and creased the man’s back. Second shot was through the top of his helmet, and the man jerked like a frog. Two others shot back, and he flinched, but they weren’t close. It was always good to be a moving target.

The vehicle was some equivalent to a Grumbly. Unarmored, unarmed at present, but decently mobile. The block of protective meat flowed and climbed the back, and Lionel dove from the open bed, through the back hatch, into the cab. Jason ran up the passenger side, waving a tool roll, fired a burst from some locally procured dump gun, dumped it, yanked the door and jumped in.

Alex waited for the rest of Cady’s team, and she boarded second to last, then helped yank him up into the bed. They did not present a low profile, but they presented a heavily armed profile. Marlin had acquired some local machine gun, and Bart stood up against the cab as support and anti-air.

“Roll!” he and Cady both said at the same time.

They were driving into an approaching mass of armed people, heading east again, and needed to turn south. Troops spilled into the street, mostly second-rate militia, though that was probably generous. Little of this planet deserved the sobriquet of second rate.

They’d planned for action, even if they didn’t want it. They were about to get it.